


Black Magic, Old Magic

by blackrabbit42



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M, Object Insertion, Sounding, Voodoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 00:51:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11544000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackrabbit42/pseuds/blackrabbit42
Summary: Jared sets the photo in front of the doll, and lights two candles on either side





	Black Magic, Old Magic

**Author's Note:**

> Cross posting to wish a certain someone a happy birthday and welcome home from NOLA

Jared’s stomach quivers, and he swallows hard to keep down the nervous bile.  Hopes his hands aren’t shaking as bad as he thinks they are.  Doesn’t look down to check, because that might draw attention to them if they are shaking. The lady customer at the register barely glances at him as she hands over a couple of wrinkled bills and takes her bag full of trinkets.  Tourist stuff, nothing dangerous.

He’s waited a long time for this day.  All the work and prep was done a long time ago, and it wasn’t easy, so he hadn’t wanted to waste it on the wrong person.  He was willing to take his time.  It looks like it’s going to be worth the wait. He carefully pulls out a length of tape from the dispenser he stashed under the counter, rolls it into a loop and sticks it down low on the leg of his jeans.

“It” being tall and sort of blonde, green eyes that could put the bayou to shame.  Graceful, despite his bowed legs as he prowls through the aisles, haphazardly grabbing the sort of touristy crap that people bring back home to their nieces and nephews for souvenirs; beads and shot glasses, sugar skulls and a bottle or two of hot sauce.  Not that he has much choice, they keep the real stuff out back, where it can’t harm anyone.

Deep breaths, deep breaths.  “Will that be all, sir?” he asks when the customer approaches the counter. He hates the way his voice cracks.  Hates the way he can feel his face reddening.  The customer looks up, looks right into his eyes, and after a whole day of customers who rarely look up from their phones and never give Jared a second glance, it’s overwhelming.  Or maybe it’s just the thought of what he’s going to do that has Jared’s breath coming too fast.

“You okay, buddy?” the customer says.  His voice registers low on Jared’s spine, rather than in his ears.  Yup, right about dick-level.

This is it.  Jared sees what he needs.  A single hair on the shoulder of the customer’s suit coat.  Yes, it’s weird for him to reach out and pluck it off.  The customer gives him a funny look.  So what.  Right?  So what?  It’s weird, but not illegal.

“Just a hair,” Jared says, and feels ridiculous as he sneaks it out of the customer’s sight, saves it on the piece of tape.  His mouth is dry, and his stomach is worse than ever. He tells himself he won’t get caught, can’t get caught, and even if something really crazy happens and he does get caught, no one can prove anything.  Right?  Right.

Deep breaths.  Only one more thing has to fall into place and then he can relax.  He wills his fingers to be steady as he rings up the purchases, but there’s nothing he can do about his voice.  His throat is as tight as a black cat’s ass.  Not that he would know.  It’s just an expression, jeez.

“Will that be cash or credit?”  He does a little push.  Something he’s not extremely good at, but hey, nothing ventured, nothing gained.  Maybe it works, or maybe the customer was going to use a card anyway, but either way, same result, and now Jared knows his name.

Jensen.

Jensen.  It feels like Jared should have known it already, because in his mind, when he puts the name to the doll he has prepared, it’s like that was its name all along.

He waits until Jensen is well down the street before he turns the sign on the storefront from “open” to “closed.” He might get in trouble, but he won’t get fired.  There aren’t many teenagers willing to work for minimum wage in a crappy shop like this these days, they all want to work at Best Buy or Applebee’s at the mall, and Jared’s boss knows it.

It’s probably still a couple of hours until Jensen will return to his hotel room, plenty of time for Jared to get ready.

++++++++

He selects the photo carefully, even though he’s not sure this part will work.  The voodoo doll with Jensen’s hair carefully woven into the fabric in a vertical line over the spine? That’s standard stuff, and even the special modifications Jared made aren’t really that far off the map.   But he’s never heard of anyone doing the photo part before, so maybe it won’t work.  Still, he agonizes over it, shifting through the dozens of photographs he’s taken of himself posing in front of the mirror.

He looks too skinny in this one.

This one, too young.

What the hell is his face doing in that one?

In the end, he settles on the one that makes him feel sexiest, even if it’s not the most flattering.  He’s wearing his sister’s panties that his pa threw in the trash because he said they were slutty when he found them in the laundry.  They’re not really; they’re cotton, a sort of reddish purple with white polka dots, but they definitely look slutty on Jared in the photo, and that’s what counts.

He sets the photo in front of the doll, and lights two candles on either side.  A pink candle for self-love, and a blue candle to waken the psychic mind.

The time settles into place, Jared can sense it even across the city, Jensen readying himself for bed in his hotel somewhere, so he burns a feather over each candle, and then gently strokes the doll with the burnt tips, leaving streaks of ash across the face, across the heart, and across the rough-spun penis he had sewn on.  He feels the strokes over his own flesh, shivery and light, loosening his spine.

Now that it’s happening, now that he’s kneeling before his little altar with his precious seed leaking out onto the floor in front of him, he’s not sure where to start.  In all his planning, he’s thought of plenty of things to do, but not what to start with.  He closes his eyes, and picks up the doll.  Fondles it. Runs his shaking fingers over the little sex organ, then turns it over and runs the very tips of his fingers up the backs of the legs.

The words that fall from his lips are crooning and possessive.  Filthy promises that he would never dare speak in the light of day, but only here, in private, with his little Jensen.  Things his pa would skin him alive for if he even suspected Jared thought such things.  But Jensen would understand, wouldn’t he?  Oh, yes.

He dips his index finger into the little jar of sandalwood oil, then paints the place between the doll’s legs with the fragrant oil.  It stains the fabric around the small hole he’d fashioned there, but he continues to massage the area in small circles while he reaches behind himself with his other hand to do the same.

On the altar, there’s a small bone.  Just the right size.  But not yet.

Deep breaths.  He doesn’t want this to end too soon.

Jared squeezes the base of his cock, because just the thought of what he wants to do next threatens to push him over the edge.  Deep breaths.  He cradles the Jensen doll against his stomach, legs spread and straddling each side of Jared’s protruding cock. Leans back, picks up one of other candles, the ones that live in jars, waiting to be melted, waiting to be poured—

The scream Jensen makes in his head is exactly like the one that would have ripped from his own mouth if he hadn’t been trying to keep quiet.  As it is, his jaw strains wide, his eyes slammed shut as the exquisite heat of the wax trickles over his stomach, over the doll, over his thighs.  He finds himself gripping Jensen tight against his cock, and then relaxes his fingers,  adjusting Jensen so he can still see Jared’s picture.  So the image of Jared, pale, skinny Jared, with his hand shoved into his panties is forever seared into his mind and tied with the feeling of hot wax.

And later, when Jared is carefully, oh, so carefully inserting the delicate silver rod into the weave of Jensen’s fabric penis, he makes sure he’s looking at the photo then, too.

And when he teases the hole between Jensen’s legs with the tip of the finely shaped bone, when he presses it in and pulls it out as slowly as he can before pushing it back in again, he makes sure the doll is looking at the photo then, too.

And when at last, hours later, he comes, letting his seed smear all up and down the back of the doll, which by then is tarnished with ash and reddened with blood and torn in places, you can definitely believe that Jared was making it look at the photograph then, too.

++++++++

Jared should have called in.  He can hardly walk.  There are red, splotchy burns peeking out the collar of his tee-shirt, and six bloody one-inch slits showing on the pale skin of his inner forearm.  But he’d closed early the night before, he couldn’t get away with a no-show today.  Besides, it would titillate the tourists.  He puts on his purple crushed velvet top hat just to get into character.

He sits on the stool behind the counter, wincing as his tender ass touches down on the wood.  He really had gotten carried away, hadn’t he?

But totally worth it. He has months worth of jerk-off material burned into his brain; the memory of each time he’d come last night, and the filthy sounds Jensen had made in his head, and the begging noises and the way he could literally feel his tongue slipping into Jensen’s open asshole when he—

_Click._

The sound of the bolt on the shop door sliding into its sheath.

_Silence._

The sound of Jared’s heart not beating, because Jensen is standing in the doorway of the shop, calmly switching the sign from “open” to “closed.”

Jensen’s hair is disarranged wildly in crazy directions, his lips look bruised, dark circles ring his eyes and threaten to eclipse the spray of freckles on his cheeks.  Red, angry welts spill across his neck.

“Did you think that was fun?” he asks.  Low, calm.  “Did you have yourself a good little time?”  He’s at the counter, and then up and over it before Jared can understand what’s happening.  “Did you think I wouldn’t remember where I saw that face?  Where I’d heard that voice before?

He’s got Jared by the front of his tee-shirt.  “Look at this shit,” Jensen says, holding Jared’s lacerated wrist right up in his face.  “You didn’t even bother to try hiding it.”

“I… I’m…” Jared doesn’t know what he is.  Deep down, had he really believed it was working?  Sure, he could pull off a few psychic parlor tricks, but he’d just been playing around, right?  His mouth opens and closes around words that he can’t find.

It seems Jensen doesn’t really want answers to his questions though. He looks around towards the back of the store, finds what he wants, and drags Jared by the shirt towards the little alcove set aside for psychic readings during the height of the season.

“Just tell me one thing,” Jensen says as he pushes Jared through the flimsy curtain.  “Tell me you’re wearing them now.  You better be fucking wearing them now or—” but he doesn’t bother telling Jared _or what._ He just pushes him back against the wall and thrusts a hand down the front of Jared’s jeans, curls his fingers around the fabric he finds in there, and yanks it up to see.

Jared yelps as the seam of his panties suddenly crushes his balls.  _Not_ the panties he’d been wearing in that picture.  He didn’t think he’d be able to make it through the day if he’d worn those, so he’d chosen another pair, one of his own this time, baby blue satin.  He’d thought they’d be soothing against his tortured backside.

Jensen lets out a low, wavering moan, dragging his hand across his face, and then down to cradle his own balls, wincing.  “Oh, fuck you,” he says, and then “you fucking _raped me.”_

Everything is happening too fast, and Jared doesn’t have two words to bring together to save his life, and Jensen is saying “ _fuck, fuck fuck_ ” under his breath and shoving Jared’s jeans down around his ankles and pushing him over onto the table. A deck of tarot cards goes flying, the five of swords landing face up on top of the scatter.

The heel of Jensen’s palm digs painfully into the back of Jared’s neck, and the ashy scent of incense tickles his nose where his face is mashed against the table.  He wants to tell Jensen, _you don’t need to hold me down,_ but it’s happening too fast.  An awkward shuffle of legs and clothes around their ankles and then hot crush of Jensen against his back, the head of his dick jabbing desperately, trying to find the way into Jared.

Deep breaths.  He’s hyperventilating.  He’s just a stupid kid, he didn’t mean to—

And then Jensen slides home, through the leftover slick of oil and Jared’s own come that he’d pushed into himself with needy fingers only hours ago. They both groan with relief.  Jared had thought he’d satisfied himself the night before, but now he realizes he’s been a walking mess of need, sick with it.

“You promised this was mine,” Jensen hisses in his ear.  “You said this ass was mine. When you were sliding god knows what up my dick, and raping my ass with a christly alligator bone, you said that you were going to be my personal plaything for life.  You _promised.”_

Jared nods, not sure if Jensen sees, and not altogether sure what he’s nodding about.  Maybe, _yes whatever, Jensen, just keep fucking me and never stop._

His knees buckle under Jensen’s weight and rhythm, and Jensen shifts his hand from the back of Jared’s neck to hoist him up under his waist.  When his wrist brushes Jared’s cock, it’s all over for Jared, he’s shooting onto the floor and over Jensen’s hand and it’s not stopping, feels like he’s turning inside out to come.  Feels like he might start pissing himself when he runs out of come because there isn’t any end to the sucking spasms that wrack his body.

Jensen doesn’t pause or pull out, just locks in tight and digs his fingers into Jared’s flesh, and Jared can feel it pulsing into him as Jensen holds on.

And then, it’s quiet.

Breath and heartbeats and small wet sounds as Jensen pulls out.  A cracking noise as Jared takes his own weight on his knees when Jensen lets go.  A thunk as Jensen lets himself fall back against the wall, pants still around his knees. Jared slides to the floor, supporting himself on his hands and knees, catching his breath.

Jensen is the first to speak.  “I’d say we’re even.”

Jared thinks about how he hadn’t been sure any of it would work.  How he didn’t believe, then, with his whole heart, but now he does, and what that might mean.

He nods, all he can manage right then, but he thinks, _we might be even, but we’re not done.  Not by a long shot._


End file.
